A non-magical Christmas
by Impossible Cauldronite
Summary: Imogen brings a rather special witch home for the holidays...
1. Chapter 1

**_AN: _**_So...something a little bit different! In my mind this was just going to be a tiny little one-shot but...who knows..._

* * *

"Constance, are you almost ready to go?" Imogen panted as she dropped her heavy rucksack and her winter coat by the door.

Constance looked up from her book, giving a curt nod while pointing at her small bag, to indicate that she had packed her things.

"You should put your coat on, though," she said, "It'll be cold on the broom in this weather"

Over the preceding days, the weather had definitely taken a turn for the more wintry, strong winds swirled around (and indeed, throughout) the castle. Under normal circumstances, Constance would have decided against travelling in such wind, but this journey was necessary. This Christmas she would sacrifice her traditional solitude, and fly off to meet the family of the woman she loved more than anything else.

"They -" she paused for a second, wondering whether or not to proceed, "What do they know about me? Do they know about _us_?"

"No, well, not exactly," Imogen fiddled with the zip on her jacket, desperately hoping that Constance would understand, "My brother knows but the others – especially my parents – please, Constance, we agreed before that I'd introduce you as my friend. I'm sorry, it – that's just how it has to be"

"It's alright," Constance reassured her. She was well aware that the non-magical population could be rather less accepting of each other.

"And er – you teach science, not potions. None of them know that you're a witch so...just be careful, yeah?"

"Are you asking me not to use magic?"

"No! I...just please be careful, Constance," she took hold of the witch's hands, "I love you so much, and I wish that you could really be a part of my family. I want them to like you."

* * *

They landed under the cover of the woods, a few streets away from where Imogen told Constance they were heading. Constance understood why. In fact, it had been her idea. After all, when one is pretending not to be a witch, it wouldn't do well to make an entrance by swooping down from the sky on a magic broomstick...

"Are you forgetting something?"

Constance looked around, wildly. "What?"

"Broomstick?"

"Ah." She swiftly turned it into a large umbrella – a much less suspicious thing to be carrying around in winter.

"Are you kidding me?" Imogen giggled as her companion looked around in confusion again, "You did – you – Constance Hardbroom, when we went camping, did you turn your broom into a brolly and tell me you'd left it behind?"

Constance made a strange movement like a cross between a shrug and a nod.

"You sneaky little liar!" Imogen teased.

"That was a long time ago," Constance replied, "And you believed it – why would I _ever_ leave my broomstick behind?"

* * *

As they approached the house, Constance felt a sudden wave of fear and dread. Any time she had ventured out of the magical world she had been accompanied by at least one other witch, and she had certainly never set foot in a non-magical household before. She really didn't know what to expect. Already she could see the glow of a blaring television through the window, which Imogen cheekily ran up and tapped on, waving excitedly to someone inside. As the front door swung open, she realised that it was too late to change her mind.

A woman appeared that looked incredibly similar to Imogen, only slightly taller, much fatter and with longer blonde hair.

"My sister, Andrea," Imogen finally introduced them after hugging her sister for what seemed like an eternity, "Constance, my – friend"

She almost pulled Constance into the house, slamming the door behind her.

"Go in the sitting room," she whispered, gently prodding her, "It's ok"

Constance cautiously entered the room. Imogen's sister had re-taken her spot on the sofa, staring avidly at the television. There was a sleeping granddad in the biggest armchair, and at the other side of a large table, two children building something. She felt oddly claustrophobic.

"Did you bring presents, auntie?" one of the children yelled as Imogen entered the room behind Constance.

"I gave your presents to Santa," she called back, grinning, "He'll bring them at Christmas but only if you behave yourselves!"

She walked across and ruffled the old man's hair to determine whether he was really asleep.

"This is my dad," she said, chuckling, "He always has a nap after his dinner!"

Imogen noticed Constance's awkwardness but didn't know how to deal with it. Perhaps she hadn't thought this through enough – she hadn't ever really pictured the formidable yet forlorn witch as someone's auntie or daughter-in-law or even as a family friend.

"Imogen!" said her sister, "Get your big backside out of the way of the telly!"

"Says you," Imogen retorted, poking her tongue out at her older sister, then grinning at Constance, who still stood there looking slightly shell-shocked, "Come on, come and meet my mother"

Constance followed Imogen into the hallway, half-wishing she could be back in the cold but comfortable confines of Cackle's Academy.

"You alright?" Imogen whispered, gently nudging the witch's arm, "I know this isn't really your comfort zone, but at least we're together for Christmas, right?"

Constance braved a small smile. The kitchen door opened and Imogen jumped away from her as though she had been shocked. A woman that could only be her mother emerged with her tightly curled greying hair, the floweriest tabard that ever existed, potato peeler in hand.

"Oh hello, dear!" she said happily, "I thought I'd heard your voice, I've just been peeling veggies for tomorrow, and this must be your friend – Constance, isn't it?"

Imogen looked expectantly at Constance, who quickly realised she was supposed to speak.

"Yes, um, I'm, I'm Constance," she stammered, "Nice to meet you er...Mrs Dri-"

"Oh, no, dear, you must call me Martha; I shan't have formalities in my house!" The woman grinned manically – Constance could tell where Imogen's smile came from. "Now, into the kitchen, I won't have the pair of you standing in the hallway like a pair of hat-stands," she glanced up at Constance, "Not that you're not tall enough to be a hat-stand, dear, why are you so tall?"

Constance noticed her height more as she walked into the kitchen. It was less traditional that she had pictured, but cosy, and much nicer than the sitting room...

"I don't – I guess my parents were rather tall" she looked at Imogen as if to ask why she was being asked such a thing.

"Don't guess dear," Imogen's mother scolded, "You either know or you don't. And Imogen, don't stand in the corner all the time; it's not good for you."

Constance looked perplexed as they were being fussed over. Imogen buried her face in a hand and it was unclear to Constance whether she was hiding embarrassment or laughter.

"Oh my dear child, you look like an orphan, look how pale and thin she is, Imogen!" Constance tried to back away as the woman attempted to pinch her cheek, "Don't worry dear, I'll feed you up nicely."

"Mother, leave her alone," Imogen groaned.

"Mother-leave-her-alone?" she mocked, "You jealous little thing, don't worry your pretty-sweet self, I'll feed you up too, dear! Now, your brother is messing around outside, so you can go and say hello, but I want both of you girls back in here in a few minutes to help with the sprouts!"

"Ugh, sprouts!" Imogen wrinkled her nose, "Nobody eats sprouts, mother!"

* * *

The garden was several times larger than the house, and Imogen led the way to a large tree which shielded them from the view of the house. She took Constance's hands and pulled her into a short but passionate kiss.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, resting her head against the witch's, "I always forget how embarrassing they can be!"

"You're worth it," Constance whispered, returning the kiss.

"Ooo," a voice teased from the other side of the tree, "Immy and a woman, underneath the tree, doing what they shouldn't be"

"Jonathan!" Imogen screeched, grabbing his jumper and wrestling him to the ground several feet away from the tree.

Constance could only assume that the young man Imogen was now sitting on was her younger brother.

"Jonathan," she snarled, "Don't you dare say anything like that in front of mum and dad, you know how they are! Don't you dare! You promised me you wouldn't say anything!"


	2. Chapter 2

_**AN:** I decided to continue with this after all. It's a little bit strange for me, as it's not my usual adventurey/darknessy type-thing, but hopefully still entertaining in some way! Please do leave reviews, as they motivate me, and I don't want to still be writing a christmas-themed fic too far after the new year! haha :D_

* * *

Imogen Drill hated sprouts.

She could just about cope with their foul taste and horrible texture, but it was the fact that they had permeated every single Christmas she could remember with their sheer obnoxiousness. Her mother, on the other hand, loved the wretched things, and would always buy plenty – _too many_ – for the holidays. Like their smell, they somehow managed to enter any crevice available. And nobody really ate them anyway, except their mother. Yet it always seemed to be Imogen who ended up at the kitchen counter for what seemed like hours, cutting purposeless little crosses into their vile, green little backsides...

Her irritated train of thoughts was interrupted by a nudge from Constance, who was standing beside her, feeling just as irritated. If only the old lady would disappear for a few moments, she could've done the whole lot with a single wave of her hand. In her boredom, she had a rare tingle of compassion for those who weren't so gifted with magic, and perhaps even those young witches for whom she often used repetitive and pointless tasks like this as a punishment for their misdeeds. She checked over her shoulder to see that Imogen's mother was still busy chopping her carrots, and flicked her fingers at one of the sprouts, turning it into a little chocolate bauble.

"Don't!" Imogen whispered in surprise, "She might see!"

Constance wrinkled her nose slightly in response, returning the sprout to its former glorious self.

"I didn't mean I didn't want to eat that," whispered Imogen, looking disappointed when the chocolate disappeared.

"Too late, now," Constance replied, using magic to put a cross in the bottom of it instead.

Imogen pouted as she picked up another sprout.

"Mother, why isn't Andrea helping us with these?" she asked, "It'd be much faster."

Imogen's mother turned around in surprise.

"Your sister's tired, Imogen," she said, somewhat condescendingly, "She's been working hard at work all week."

"Well, so have we!" Imogen answered back.

"Yes, dear, but you don't have a family to look after as well, do you?"

Imogen didn't reply. It was the old family chestnut _again_. '_So what if Andrea has two little kids to look after?_' she thought, '_Constance and I look after a hundred girls, with no respite for weeks on end, and here _we _are with the bleeding sprouts.'_ She glared at her mother's turned back, '_Well. You're not getting any grandchildren from_ me'.

* * *

By the time the food was prepared for the following day, it was late enough that Imogen's niece and nephew had long since been tucked up in their beds, the log fire was ebbing to its ashes, leaving the twinkling fairy lights as the only source of light for the many oversized elves that were scrambling to place their presents under the tree.

"Are there any more left upstairs?" asked Jonathan.

"Yep, I left a couple under the bed!" said Andrea, heading out of the room.

A muffled crashing sound was heard before her face reappeared in the doorway.

"Someone," she said through gritted teeth while rubbing her knee, "Has left a big pile of crap at the bottom of the stairs!"

Imogen looked outraged.

"That pile of crap-"

"Don't use bad language, Imogen!" her mother scolded.

"-is my rucksack," she continued, "And I tucked it away in the corner!"

"Well it's not in the corner now, so do you think you'd better move it?"

"Fine," she said angrily, "Constance – why don't you give me a hand?"

Constance followed Imogen, knowing that she didn't really need a hand with the rucksack at all. Imogen picked it up in one hand and lugged to the top of the stairs, where she noticed that someone had used wrapping paper labels to pin names on each of the bedrooms. She immediately saw the one bearing her name, and opened the door.

"Seriously?" she groaned, "Since when have they even owned any bunk-beds?"

Constance was sure that the non-magical world was deliberately setting out to wrong-foot her at any opportunity. Despite the many scenarios she had rehearsed in her mind, none of them had been useful thus far. Imogen flung the bag onto the floor and sat on the edge of the bottom bunk.

"How rubbish is this?" she muttered, not really expecting an answer.

Constance sat beside her, somewhat awkwardly trying to avoid bumping her head.

"It's...not that bad," she said with an odd sense of calmness that Imogen recognised.

Imogen glanced at Constance's odd posture and let out an amused sniff.

There was a knock and Imogen's brother poked his nose through the slightly open door.

"Psst!"

"What d'you want, Jonathan?" Imogen said wearily.

"Just came to say goodnight, didn't I?" he replied, opening the door properly.

"I'm sorry," said Imogen, "I'm just annoyed with-"

"Andrea?" he rolled his eyes, "Yeah, she's been driving me crazy for two days already. I'm glad you two are here now," he walked over to the window, "I wish it'd snow, though. Do you remember when we used to snowball fight?"

"Remember?" Imogen laughed, "Jonathan, that was only the Christmas before last!"

"Yeah, well," she said, shrugging, "Anyway, I'm off to bed."

"Night," Imogen said, giving her brother a hug, "And thanks, you know, for not saying anything"

"I'd never!," he said, playfully punching his sister's arm, "Night, Constance,"

She returned his brief smile as he left the room.

"If it weren't for him," Imogen said quietly, beginning to empty her rucksack, "I would hate this family"

"You don't really mean that?" Constance said in shock.

Imogen shrugged and pulled out a few more presents from the bottom of her bag.

"One of these is his, I'll just go and put it under the tree with the others," she muttered, "And this one...I know you don't really do presents, Constance, but I did get you something. I'll give it to you now so you can open it by yourself if you want or bring it to the tree in the morning or...whatever you prefer to do."

She handed over a box wrapped in shiny blue and silver paper, and left the room with the other present. Constance stared at the box for a few moments before tucking it away with the rest of her things.

* * *

"So, that tall young lady, what's her face, Constance, is it?"

Imogen heard her father's voice as she passed the kitchen door. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment before she scurried closer to the door to hear.

"What about her, Frank?" her mother's voice replied, "And will you please stop leaving your muddy boots by the kitchen door?"

"What is she, friend of Imogen's?"

"Yes, dear, from that school she works at, I think she's a science teacher or something"

"Clever as well as pretty, then," he chuckled, "I'm sure she'd make someone a nice partner."

"Frank!"

There was a sound like a tea towel being whipped though the air.

"Don't be so disgusting, Frank! My Imogen is certainly not one of _those_ girls! Oh, I can't even think about it, Frank, why do you have to be so crude? I don't care if you think that Constance girl is clever or pretty or whatnot, if I found out she's _that way_, she certainly wouldn't be eating any of _my_ turkey!"

Imogen shed a silent tear.

"Just because Imogen's brought her weird, old-fashioned friend home for Christmas instead of a nice young man, that does not mean –"

"Martha! Martha, what if I'd meant for Jonathan? She seems nicer than that girl he –"

Imogen didn't wait to find out who her father thought Constance seemed nicer than. She ran as fast as she could whilst trying to avoid making noise, back to her room, back to Constance.

"Imogen?" Constance looked up in surprise as she burst into the room and leant against the back of the door for a moment. "What is it?"

Imogen didn't reply. She hastily wiped her cheek with her sleeve and climbed up into her bunk, laying face-down on the pillow.

"Imogen?" Constance said again, more softly. She wasn't sure whether to be more concerned or more annoyed that she wasn't getting any response. She laid a hand on Imogen's shoulder for a while, waiting, before deciding that she would probably talk once she had had a little time, and sat back down again, turning off the light with a spell.

Imogen felt Constance move away from her, and turned over, realising just how important their closeness was.

"Constance?" she whispered, knowing that the witch would be there, somewhere in the darkness.

Constance wasn't sure what to say without knowing what had happened. She could just about make out the outline of Imogen's outstretched hand, so she simply reached up and took it in hers.

"You know what I said before?" Imogen said quietly, "Yes, I _do _really mean it."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Iiiiiii have written an ending which (I think) I'm happy with, even if it's a bit more sappy than I usually like :) Thanks to all who reviewed and inspired!**

* * *

Constance observed the reflection of her lover's sleeping figure, paying more attention to her curious thoughts than to her hair. Her primary instinct was to protect those she cares about, but she was unable to do that with no idea what she was defending against. Imogen hadn't said anything else; they had simply laid in silence for possibly hours before each drifting into a less-than-satisfactory sleep. It was rather unusual for Imogen to be so cryptic – she was known for letting everyone know exactly what she was unhappy about – and Constance found it incredibly frustrating to know that an unidentified _something_ was hurting Imogen, and witch or not, there was simply nothing that she could do about it.

Imogen heard a rustling sound and guessed that it must be nearly morning, despite it still being dark outside.

"Constance?" she muttered, momentarily forgetting where she was, "Is it time for breakfast?"

"No, it's still early," Constance replied quietly, "Did I wake you up?"

Imogen yawned widely, suddenly remembering that it was Christmas and she wouldn't have to supervise breakfast after all – not that she didn't now wish otherwise.

"Is it snowing?" she asked hopefully.

Constance pulled back the curtain, revealing a snippet of clear blue sky.

"That's rubbish," Imogen sighed.

"There's still time for it to snow," Constance said, making an unusual movement with her right hand as she closed the curtain again.

"Yeah ri – Did you just –" Imogen grinned happily, "Constance!"

"I'm your good fairy friend, remember?" Constance teased in a slightly silly voice, "A wise old, wish-granting witch...or something..."

"You did look rather beautiful in that fairy costume, you know," Imogen said, laughing slightly.

"Oh, don't..." Constance whispered, looking embarrassed.

"Not that you don't always look stunning," Imogen continued, sitting up, "What's so wrong with the fact that I love someone as amazing as you?"

"I – what do you mean?"

"It's just... I don't know... they're just getting to me a bit," Imogen sighed, "I should be used to it by now"

She hopped down from the bed and walked over to Constance, wrapping her arms around her waist and resting her head against her shoulder. Constance was still a little baffled, but placed her hands on the shorter woman's back, hoping to offer some comfort.

"I want to go home, Constance," she whispered.

"Imogen, you _are_ home," Constance replied softly, feeling a little confused, "This is your home...isn't it?"

Constance felt an unusual pang of sadness when she noticed the silent tears as Imogen lifted her head to face her.

"No, Constance, I don't think it is anymore," she said, "I want to go back to my real home. I want to live at the castle. I want to live with you."

Constance didn't know what to say. She wasn't sure whether the happiness that came from Imogen wanting to be with her should be allowed to outweigh the sadness that came from the feeling that Imogen seemed to be drifting away from her family. She held Imogen tightly, watching snowflakes fall outside.

"Whatever happens today, Constance-" Imogen started to speak but was interrupted as Constance finally understood what was going on in her mind.

"Imogen, I promise I'll take you home with me."


End file.
